


Must Surely Be Learning

by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5 Things, 5+1 Things, Conditioning, Dancing, Gen, References to past trauma, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Sick Shiro, Sickfic, Sky Dancing, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-10-18 14:25:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10618800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/pseuds/BossToaster
Summary: 5 things Shiro learned, and one thing he's still getting the hang of.





	1. Shake it Up, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> A return to form!
> 
> For this first part, it may help to watch [ this video.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Aw-qjG2zEI) Skydancing! Tell me it isn't the most Shiro activity ever.
> 
> While this has elements of continuity, it is technically not in Spectrum Verse. Or if it is, we'd say it's before 'In Need of Something Good'.

“So what’s his deal, today?”

Keith frowned at Lance, not sure what he was on about.  Then he followed his gaze to where Shiro was chatting with one of the Ienua.  For the most part, nothing seemed to be different: Shiro always tried to engage with the locals, making a good impression and endearing them to Voltron as much as he could.  It was probably a leftover impulse from his days before the Kerberos mission, where he’d been dragged to all sorts of press meetings and officer parties.

Eugh.  If that had been his future after graduation, Keith was almost glad he’d been expelled.

“His deal with what?”

Lance shot Keith a look like he was being an idiot.  “He’s all... perky.”

Glancing over again, Keith tilted his head.  Yes, he was cheerful, maybe more so than usual.  The pair of them were watching the dance performance ahead of them, that involved a glass-encased platform with air blowing from the floor.  It caught the dancers, and they either raised or lowered themselves in the air by how they moved, going streamline to fall or extending the fabric between their six arms to catch the air and raise like a sail.

Oh.  That was it.

“He probably wants to join,” Keith replied, shrugging.  “It’s a weird dance thing.  Shiro’s into that.  He’s welcome to it.”  The farther Keith stayed away, the less chance that Shiro would try and drag him into it to.  Theoretically, he had nothing against dance.  It might even have been useful, the way Shiro kept trying to insist.  But he’d been bugged at it  _ so many times _ that Keith never wanted to hear Shiro talk about steps or footwork or any of those French terms for how to stand ever again.

Lance hummed, sitting down in the chair next to Keith like he was boneless.  “That’s it?  I thought he might be interested.  He almost seems flirty.”

Flirty?  Nose crinkled, Keith watched again, then shook his head.  “No, he’s schmoozing.  Like at officer parties.  Ingratiating himself.”

That got him a dubious look, but then Lance shrugged.  “Alright, you’re the expert.”

“The Shiro expert?”

Lance nodded.

Well, he wasn’t exactly wrong.  Keith shrugged and focused on his food again. 

The silence hung, long enough for Lance to start twitching.  He shuffled from foot to foot, despite sitting, and one leg started to bounce.

Finally, Keith set his plate aside.  “Did you need something?”

“No,” Lance replied, glancing over.  “What’cha got?”  He reached for one of the little pieces of meat, and Keith yanked his plate away, glaring.  “Aww, fine, be that way.  Hunk would let me.”

“Why don’t you go bother Hunk, then?” Keith returned.  

Lance sighed.  “He and Pidge are talking with the engineers about how the fan under the dance floor works.  Allura was talking about trying to recreate it for, like, free fall practice? She sounded terrifying and the tech talk was boring, but Shiro was busy.”

“So I’m literally last place?”

Frowning, Lance shrugged one shoulder.  “Kinda?  For small talk, dude, yeah.  No offense, but you kind of look like you want to shove me out of my chair.”

Keith sighed and made himself relax.  Lance was here to pass the time, not to needle.  It didn’t stop him from tensing whenever they were one-on-one.  He was just so exhausting to deal with.  “I guess that’s fair,” he allowed, because Lance wasn’t  _ wrong. _  Keith would pick himself last on a list of people to chat with, too.  Hell, he’d purposefully put himself last on that list so he didn’t have to deal with situations like this.

“It was that or interrupt, and I kind of thought Shiro was getting his flirt game going, and I wasn’t about to ruin that.  Unlike everyone else.  Shiro could learn how to be a good wingman from me.”

And this was why Keith didn’t like small talk.

“First of all, he’s not flirting,” Keith said, voice hardening.  “Second, if Shiro flirted, it’d be with someone who wants him to flirt back.”

Lance bristled.  “I flirt with lots of people who want me to!”

“Name  _ one.” _

Flapping a hand, Lance’s eye narrowed.  “At the mall.  There were two of them.  That was, like, three weeks ago.”

Keith snorted.  “Did you actually talk to them, or just make weird faces from afar?”

“We were busy, and-” Lance suddenly cut off, holding up a hand.  Realizing he’d been leaning forward aggressively as the fight progressed, Keith straightened up and followed his gaze.

Shiro wasn’t chatting anymore.  Instead, he was stepping onto the ramp to get to the platform.  The dance troupe slipped out the door, looking windblown and dizzy as they wandered out.  No wonder.  Their tricks had involved a near indecent number of spins.

With a last wave and grin to his companion, Shiro stepped inside.  After a moment, the platform turned back on.

And Shiro was yanked up by the force of the wind, just he was tugged by invisible strings.

Instantly, Keith was on his feet, prepared to run over if Shiro was injured.  But before he could take more than a step, Lance reached out and grabbed him by the elbow.  “Woah, give him a second.  He’s not out of control.”

Keith stared at Lance, because the  _ fuck _ kind of control involved Shiro spiraling up to the top of the ceiling in a wild tailspin.

But then Shiro arched his back, tucking his limbs in against the side, and he curved smoothly around, one foot only barely skimming the roof as he twisted.  He leaned until he was upside down, back in a smooth arch, and he spun in place like a top as he started to smoothly float back to the floor.  His pace was so measured, it may as well have been mechanical.

Okay, apparently he did know what he was doing.

Slowly, Keith settled back in his chair, and Lance shot him a smirk.  “Told you.”

Keith only frowned back.  Sue him for wanting Shiro safe, anyway.

Turning back, he watched as Shiro righted himself only a few feet off the ground.  One foot was flat, like he was standing on solid ground, while the other bent back behind him until he could grab his heel in both hands behind his head.  Apparently, that much surface area equalized gravity and the pressure of the air, because he hovered almost perfectly level, no longer rising or falling.

As he spun gently in place, Keith saw his face in profile, and then full on.  Rather than the beaming smile he’d expected, Shiro looked almost serene.  His eyes were closed and his face was relaxed, other than a little quirk of his lips.  Slowly, he let go of his leg, and it fell back until it was straight out behind him.  The extra surface area made him bob in the air, raising slightly until he settled again.  Inch by careful inch, he leaned forward, back still bowed and arms out to his sides.  Each move made him raise a little more, until he was steady at about ten feet over.

Then Shiro tucked in on himself and flipped over, both legs extended in a mid-air split and his head hanging to the floor.  He jolted down sickeningly, but equalized again as he started to spin once more.

“He’s testing it,” Pidge said suddenly.  Startling, Keith swung his head around to look behind him.  Hunk gave a cheerful wave, but Pidge was still watching closely.  “Isn’t he?  He’s getting a feel for it.”

As if to prove her words, Shiro started to  _ move. _

First, Shiro tucked all his limbs in on himself and spun at a dizzying rate.  He twisted until he was flat out horizontal instead of upside down.  The move sent him rocketing back up to the ceiling.  Right before he hit it, he twisted so his feet hit instead, and he kicked off, dropping right back down to the ground, this time along the side of the glass wall, head to the floor.  

Shiro stopped himself by spreading his arms out, then extending his legs and bending his legs forward, moving like he was walking on the air until he was upright again.  This time, he kept both his feet totally flat to the floor, hands folded at the small of his back and once again placidly spinning.

“I’m mostly impressed he hasn’t thrown up yet,” Hunk commented flatly, leaning against the back of Lance’s chair.  “Wait-”  Shiro started to spin again, a blur of motion twisting over and over while he moved from top to bottom. “Yeah, definitely.  I’m not feeling great just watching.  He’s gotta be so dizzy.”

“Looks like fun to me,” Lance replied.  “I didn’t know you were allowed in there if you weren’t a dancer, otherwise I would have been trying before now.  This is cool.”

Keith snorted.  “Maybe you have to be.  Shiro  _ is _ a dancer.”

Blinking, Pidge made a soft noise in the back of her throat.  “Huh.  I thought he just... liked it.  He said he took lessons, but...”

“Not like he does it professionally, but he’s trained.  He used to bug me all the time to practice with him.”

Hunk’s lips quirked up fondly. “Bet you loved that.”

A flat look was his only response.

In his glass case, Shiro repeated the walking on air trick, this time going a full 360 degrees from a standing position to upside down and back.  Then he seemed to consider, and slowly dropped himself down to the floor, sitting cross-legged.  Putting a hand to his mouth, he shouted  _ something _ to the Ienud he’d been talking to earlier.

They considered, frowning deeply, and yelled something back.  The conversation was exchanged for a few moments, but then they nodded and stood, trotting off to speak with one of the officials.  When the leader nodded, Shiro’s companion made some kind of gesture.

Then the lights shut off.

Without it, it was difficult for Keith to see Pidge right next to him, much less Shiro in the cage. 

What the hell was he planning?

Then Shiro’s arm lit up.  It reflected off the glass, casting the whole platform in a dim purple light, but for the most part it was the only thing visible.

It was interesting, how Keith could sort-of tell what Shiro was doing, from standing up to getting back into position.  Just one arm was an interesting way to try and track someone.

Then, Shiro started to spin again, at that same nauseating speed.

The arm left a glowing afterimage around him, trailing in slowly rising spiral, like a sparkler twirled on a hot summer night.

“Oh,” Hunk breathed.  “Okay,  _ that’s _ cool.”

Apparently the other officials agreed.  Luckily, this had been a relatively private affair - just the Voltron crew, including Allura and Coran, the leader and her staff, and the troupe as entertainment.  The whole room’s chattering stopped, first from the lights going off, and then from the show.

And it was a  _ show. _

Now, Shiro was almost completely dedicated to spinning and moving up and down as fast as possible.  He zipped around the little case, spirals of purple light following him and fading away like a mirage.

Finally, Shiro ended hovering over the floor again, arm out in a way that probably meant he was standing on open air again.  He turned and visibly started, glowing fingers splaying from surprise.  Apparently he’d just noticed that turning off the lights and becoming a one man dance rave might catch some attention.  He gave a small wave, then dropped it by his side.

In what little light illuminated him in his glass case, Shiro was curled in slightly, bashful and no doubt embarrassed at making a spectacle of himself.  But he was also beaming, his teeth giving off a dull purple shine of reflected light.

Keith speculated, just for a moment, how different Shiro’s life would have been if somehow he hadn’t been accepted into the Garrison and gone into dancing instead.

Probably much more boring.

The platform turned off, and Shiro exited as the lights came back on.  He gave his companion a sheepish smile, holding his hand up in apology, only for the Ienud to grab onto it and tug him into an enthusiastic hug.  Considering their species was 8 feet tall, lanky and had three sets of arms, that was a lot of hug.

Luckily, Shiro laughed through it, and then allowed himself to be tugged to the rest of the troupe, who all immediately started to bombard him with questions and comments.  No doubt chief among them being ‘how did a human learn to do that?’

A good question, honestly.  While other people could probably do it too, just picking it up was a purely  _ Shiro _ trait.

An annoying one, usually.  Today, Keith didn’t mind.

“So we all get a turn, right?” Lance asked, eyes bright and wild.  “I want to do that.  I’m gunna do that.  One second.”  He popped to his feet and started over to the group, and Keith could practically see his imagination like a cloud around his head.

Hunk frowned, nose crinkled.  “You actually want- oh, hey!  Wait for me!”  He scrambled after, gesturing for Keith and Pidge to follow.  With a shrug, Keith followed after, Pidge on his heels.  Neither of them bothered to jog like Hunk did.

“-all get a turn, right?” Lance said, bracing against Shiro’s side like a wall as he grinned at the dance troupe.  “Since Shiro did, and all.”

Laughing, surprisingly free and open, Shiro nudged Lance back.  “Maybe with me the first time.  I’m sure you can get it, but I had a little more training.”

Lance crinkled his nose, but nodded anyway.  “Only for like, five minutes. Then I got it.”  Shiro inclined his head.  

“And if it’s okay with Maldoran,” Shiro replied, gesturing to his companion.

Clasping all six of their hands, Maldoran nodded.  “After this display, we would love to see more Paladins try.”  They turned their pale eyes onto the other three, they tilted their head.  “And you?”

“Pass,” Hunk said flatly, holding up his hands.  There was a quirk to his lips, though, that softened the rejection.  “I’m not made for that kind of thing.  Literally or figuratively.”

Shiro bit his bottom lip.  “I think you’d do alright if you wanted, but your stomach probably wouldn’t appreciate it.”  Hunk only groaned in response.  “What about you two?”

For a moment, Keith considered, because he did love just about anything that involved his feet off the ground.  “I can wait,” he finally replied.  Mostly, he wished he could do it without an audience, where he could focus on getting used to it without being aware there was a diplomatic meeting going on right outside.

“I’ll try.  Kinda.  I have a plan.”  Pidge grinned.  “Mostly I want to try it out so if we can recreate it on the castle, we can make sure it’s right.”

Shiro perked.  “You want to- oh!  I’ll help you test it.”

“You bet you will,” Hunk replied.  “After all that you’d  _ better.”    _

Snorting, Shiro nodded agreeably, then offered Maldoran another of those soft, slightly-vicious smiles.  It looked like it had been shaken from him, like his display earlier had broken through his facade and showed something untamed underneath.  “Thank you, Maldoran, I appreciate you letting us try it out.  It’s amazing technology.”

“It was our pleasure,” Maldoran replied sincerely, and the other members of the troupe nodded in agreement.  “If you ever wish to learn more of our craft, we’d love to have you.”

Shiro laughed at the offer like it was a very sweet joke, then shuffled Lance and Pidge over to the platform again.  Pidge’s plan was soon clear, as she hopped onto Shiro’s back like a piggy back ride and held on as he moved.  All the experience without any of the effort.

As Keith watched Shiro walk Lance through how he controlled the frantic spinning, he wondered if Shiro ever regretted the choice to become a pilot instead of a dancer, or a gymnast, or whatever other way he could have funneled his very odd and specific talents.

But when Shiro looked over at Keith and Hunk, face bright with his beaming smile, Keith could only think  _ nah. _


	2. Only Waiting for this Moment

“Nothing,” Pidge announced, groaning.  She slumped against the front of the console and leaned her head back.  “It’s totally fried.”

Hunk grimaced.  “I hate to say it, but yeah.  Sorry, guys.”

Shaking his head, Shiro held up his hands.  “It’s not your fault, Hunk.  If you hadn’t shot them, that bounty hunter would have taken a chunk out of Keith.”

From where he was nursing his likely broken wrist, Keith nodded.  “Yeah.  I’m pretty thankful for that.”

Hunk managed a quick smile, then sent down next to Lance and sighed.  “Alright, maybe.  But if I hadn’t hit the controls of their ship, we’d be able to call the castle.”

Instead, they were in the middle of Galra controlled territory, in a rickety old ship with barely the power to fly, much less something fancy like a teleduv.  And they had no way of contacting anyone.

It really wasn’t their best moment.  All because some locals had sold them out and drugged the meal.

Really, they needed a way to test their food better.  Between situations like this, and the ones where Shiro got drunk off the local fare, it was really becoming an issue.

“Can you do the thing with Black?” Lance asked, dancing his fingers around his temple.  “Like Zarkon used to do.  Long distance calls or whatever.”

Shiro made a face.  “We don’t know how Zarkon was doing that.  I don’t think so.  The lions pick things up a long ways away sometimes, but...”  Never half a day’s travel away.  It wasn’t by wormhole, but that was a pretty significant distance.  And who knew where the castle even was now?

On the screens, there was a flashing notification.

“Oh, Quiznak,” Pidge muttered, turning around and poking at the screen.  “We’re being hailed.  I think we floated into someone’s territory.  We need to get out of here.”

Well, that settled it.  “Everything else is working?”

Pidge made a ‘eh’ gesture.  “Mostly.  Ish.  Yeah.  It’ll be enough to get us moving, but I’m not sure if we can go... You know.  Fast.”

Frowning, Keith looked between her and the console, pulling his wrist closer.  “That’s kind of a problem.”

“Yeah, well, blame this one for not keeping their ship up to date.”  Pidge pointed to the still crispy-looking, unconscious bounty hunter.  They were currently tied at the wrists, ankles, and waist, with their tail twisted into the ankle knots.

Lance had been a little... enthusiastic.  Shiro couldn’t say he disapproved.

Standing, Shiro sat down in the control seat.  “Well, we definitely don’t get away by sitting here.  So let’s go.”

“Wait, you’re flying?”  Lance popped up, his tone suddenly much different.

Shiro frowned.  “I have the most experience. With alien crafts and just flight hours,” he replied carefully, glancing over his shoulder as he put his hands on the controls.  Was Lance upset that he’d been passed by?  “So I assumed- It’s not that I don’t think you could do it.  Keith could too, but I’d feel more comfortable if it was me.”

“Don’t pilot with Shiro,” Keith muttered, resting his head on the wall.  “He’s a backseat driver.  It’s awful.”

Before Shiro could reply with proper indignation, Hunk snorted at Keith.  “So that’s where you get it from, huh?”

“Actually, yeah,” Keith replied flatly.

Standing up, Lance shook his head and waved his arms.  “No, no, I’m not mad. I get to watch you fly!”  He moved over to settle behind Shiro, leaning against the back of his chair.  “Really fly, not like the lions.  The lions are great but you don’t really pilot them, they do all that themselves.  So I wanna see.”

Oh, right. The hero thing.  It had been a long time since that had come up, and frankly Shiro wasn’t super comfortable with it.  Kerberos had been historical, and he’d never wanted anything more in his life, but he didn’t really think of it as  _ hero-worthy. _  It was ferrying Matt and Sam to one of Pluto’s moons.

“Alright,” Shiro replied carefully, still blinking slowly.  He wasn’t used to dealing with this anymore.  “Sure, if you want.”

“Less chatting, more flying,” Pidge demanded.  “They’re on their way.”

Right.  Focusing on the screens, Shiro sat up straighter and took a deep breath.

Then he floored it.

There was way more of a delay than Shiro was comfortable with.  The ship took its sweet, jerky time powering up, and when it shot off, it wasn’t at the speed Shiro had been hoping for.  

This wouldn’t have outrun a Garrison vessel, much less something the Galra had.

Not good.

Okay, think.  “What’s nearby that we can hide out on?” Shiro asked.

“Uh,” Hunk muttered, coming up on the opposite side of Pidge and opening up more windows.  On one of them, Shiro could see how quickly the ships were gaining on them.  It wasn’t going to be in a few seconds, but they would be on them soon.  “There’s a meteor field about two astronomical units from here.”

Okay, they weren’t going to make that in time, but if they could get there, that’d be good.  If nothing else, their bigger ships would have to slow down.  “Anything between?”

“A planet.  Barely a planet,” Pidge replied.  She scooted over so Keith could see too.  

Keith frowned thoughtfully.  “How much gravity do you think that thing has?”

“Not a lot?” Hunk replied.  “Some.  Definitely enough that we’d have to go around.”

Catching onto Keith’s plan, Shiro grinned.  “Or not.”

There was a pause.  “Shiro,” Hunk said softly.  “You can’t go through the planet.  It’s rock.”

“No, but I can go through the gravity field.”  Grinning now, Shiro set a course for it.  “We’re going to Farscape it.”

There was a pause.  “Even I didn’t get that one,” Pidge said.

Shiro frowned.  “Really, no one?”

“I’ve heard of it?” Hunk replied.  “But it was supposed to be pretty weird.  There were muppets.  And I heard it was kinda dark, so I left it alone.”

“I’m disappointed in all of you,” Shiro muttered.

Lance tapped his shoulder.  “If we get out of this and we get back to Earth, we’ll all personally watch it with you.  Now explain what that means?”

“We’re going to do a gravity assist off the planet,” Shiro sighed.  Pulling up the consoles, he inputted the information on the planet in, letting the computer do some of the calculations for him.

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Pidge sighed.

Grinning, Shiro shrugged. “It was more fun to say it that way.  I like Farscape.”

Holding up a hand, Hunk frowned.  “Woah, hold up.  A gravity assist in  _ this thing? _  It’ll fall apart!”

A notification flashed on screen suddenly, and Shiro jerked the controls just a second too late.  The Galra ship got a glancing blow, not enough to damage anything, but plenty strong enough to give them all a good shake.

Hunk groaned and looked green.  “I take it back, I’d rather die that way.”

“That’s the spirit!” Shiro replied, grinning wider.

“Besides,” Lance added.  “That’s what you did in the _ Daedelus, _ right?  Gravity assist off of Jupiter.  And that ship was only barely bigger than this, and Jupiter had way more gravity.”

Well, Shiro had also been practicing the maneuver for months beforehand, and they weren’t nearly so close to Jupiter for it.

But damn, Lance sounded so excited about it.

“Exactly,” Shiro replied, as confidently as he could manage.  Behind him, there was another shot, and Shiro had to jerk to the side again to avoid it.  On screen, the suggested path faltered and began to recalibrate as their angle of approach changed. 

Keith frowned. “You’re not going to get a path if you keep moving around like that.”

“Yeah, but we won’t get to the path if we get blown up!”  Pidge shot back.  “When we get deeper into the gravity, the Galra ships should pull away, or else they’ll risk getting ripped apart too.”

Groaning, Hunk closed his eyes.  “Don’t talk about getting ripped apart.”

Shiro watched the screen carefully, but the path wasn’t appearing, and they were in range of the planet’s gravity already.

Ah, well.

If this was how Shiro died, he was going to launch a complaint with the afterlife, he swore.

Just in case, Shiro took a deep breath.  “I am a leaf on the wind.”

He had just enough time to see Pidge’s horrified look - oh, right, he’d told her about that promise - before he gunned it.

Immediately, the ship started to shake, and all sorts of error messages popped up onto the screen.  Shiro ignored that as much as possible, copying what the vector had been.  At least as much of it as he remembered.

Glancing over, Shiro caught Keith’s eyes, and for just a second he knew they were both thinking of the many, many hours they’d spent messing with Shiro’s senior thesis on this very subject, both to check over it and make fun of it after as stress relief.

They both grinned.

“They’re pulling off,” Pidge told him, voice strained as she reached over and grabbed Shiro’s wrist in an iron grip.  There was a horrible shudder as something on the ship felt like it was giving, and her hold tightened to a painful degree.  Behind him, Lance grabbed onto Shiro’s shoulders for balance.  “They’re pulling out, they can’t take this.”

“Neither can we!” Hunk replied, finally giving up and covering his eyes.  He’d held out for longer than Shiro would have expected of him, especially given how utterly green he’d gone.  Reaching out, Hunk grabbed onto Shiro’s knee as he visibly fought against doubling over.

Doing a few calculations in his head, and remembering what the console had said, Shiro nodded and pulled out.

They  _ rocketed _ through the sky, only just barely under Shiro’s control, and they careened straight into the meteor field.

While the objects here weren’t too densely packed, the speed they were going still made it feel like they were.  Shiro weaved through them, letting the momentum of their move sail them all the way through the belt and past it.  Once Shiro was sure their tails were thoroughly lost, he engaged thrusters to slow them just a touch, so it was back to more controllable speeds.

“Watch me soar,” Shiro finished, calm as he could manage.

Groaning, Lance put his hand on top of Shiro’s helmet and used that to push himself up.  “That was...”

“That was the worst,” Hunk groaned.  “I thought we were going to die.  I was  _ sure _ we were going to die.”

“That was  _ amazing!” _  Lance finished, whooping painfully loud right next to Shiro’s ear.  “You did that by  _ eye!” _

Shiro laughed, easy and more than a bit wild.  He was just a tiny bit keyed up from the flight.  Just a little bitty bit.  “Well, no, I was still following the computer.”

“There was no path,” Keith replied fondly.  “It was still kind of by eye.  It was good flying, Shiro, just admit it.”

Shifting in his seat, Shiro shrugged, but didn’t really manage to project the modesty he wanted to.  “Either of you could have done it, like I said.”

“Maybe, but it was still  _ amazing.” _ Lance sighed over the controls like he did over the girls he failed to flirt with.  “Can you show me again sometime?  I want to learn from you.”

“Less fun than it sounds,” Keith replied.  “Backseat driver, like I said.”

“I don’t  _ care. _ ”

Before Shiro could respond, Pidge suddenly whirled and punched him in the arm.  “Shiro!  Don’t use that quote like that!”

Shiro laughed and rubbed his arm sheepishly.  “Sorry.  I forgot I told you guys.  Besides, they’re good final words.”  Reaching out, he ruffled her hair.  “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Sighing, Pidge shook her head. “You’re impossible.  Now set the autopilot for a little while.  Hunk and I will see what we can do for now.”

Hunk finally picked his head up.  “Yeah, we can just head to the nearest safe-ish planet now.  It’ll be a few hours, but we’ll get somewhere we can call from.”  He made a face.  “Let’s avoid more Galra military planets.”

“Good plan,” Shiro replied, stepping out of the chair.  Facing Lance, Shiro nodded.  “I’m happy to show you a few tricks, next time we have a chance.  For now, we should probably wrap that wrist, Keith.”

Getting Keith to sit back down, Shiro helped Lance go through the few storage areas on the ship, trying to find something to work as a splint. 

Despite being stuck in a tiny, half-broken ship in the middle of the void of space, with an injured teammate and a prisoner, Shiro smiled to himself.

It was nice to get to use those skills again.

Maybe they’d just... keep this ship when they got back to the castle.  Just so they had something other than the lions if they ever needed to land somewhere.

Just in case.


	3. What You Eat You Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, the symptoms are a little harder to deal with.
> 
> I wanted to look at one of those.

Whatever this bug was, it had hit Shiro like a truck.

Just yesterday morning, he’d been mostly fine.  Maybe feeling a bit woozy, but Shiro wouldn’t have even classified it as a cold.  More like he’d just pushed himself too hard recently. 

By lunch, Shiro had been feverish and distinctly achy.  A headache had started to build, throbbing in time with his pulse, and Shiro had spent more time following the veins in his head to try and soothe them than eating.  Finally, he’d given up and had Allura and Coran take over afternoon practice, much to the initial protests of the team.

Right before dinner, Shiro had passed out in the hall, a shivering, dazed, sweating mess.

It wasn’t even 24 hours since the lunch where he’d fully realized he was sick, but Shiro felt like it had been days.  

Strange dreams plagued Shiro’s fitful sleep.  As his dreams often did, they tended to revolve around the arena, but they were only bits of pieces of the truth.  Instead it was new, strange forms of suffering, most utterly nonsensical.  There was one where Shiro was fighting some kind of creature that looked like a bipedal elephant in a robe, and every time Shiro jumped too high, he’d hit a balloon and it would shock him.  In another, Shiro was in a cell that kept shrinking, and the temperature kept switching between trying to burn him and trying to freeze him, and it wasn’t until later Shiro realized he’d been dreaming through his hot flashes.

The one Shiro had just woken up from was at least a little closer to literal reality.  It was just mealtime, where Shiro would try to eat, but each time he did, a hand would try and sneak close to take some.  His stomach growled, but Shiro needed his hands to defend his food and was never able to actually eat.

Shiro was still panting from that, shivering and gagging at the thought of food, when there was a knock on the door.

“Shiro?” Allura called.  “Are you awake?”

Not really, he didn’t think.  Shiro scrubbed a hand over his face. Honestly, he didn’t really want the princess to see him like this.  He didn’t want anyone to, but that probably wasn’t going to happen.  There was no way he was going to be able to go to the kitchen for food, or even make trips to the bathroom for glasses of water with any regularity.  He  _ ached _ in ways he’d forgotten a fever could make him feel, leaving him kitten weak.

It was humiliating, honestly.

“Yes,” he finally replied, trying to call but mostly just ending up with an awful sounding croak.  Shiro rubbed his abused throat and winced.  Eugh.

The door opened, and Allura stepped in, carrying a tray.  There was a few of those little water packets on it, along with a bowl of something that was gently steaming.  It must have smelled good, because one of the mice was sitting on the tray, wafting the steam of it closer to their little muzzle.

“How are you feeling?”  Allura asked gently.  She set the tray down on the table, and for a moment, she paused.  Shiro wasn’t sure why, but a moment later, she turned back around and pulled a chair over.

Shiro opened his mouth, then paused and groaned.  “I’ve been better,” he managed.  “I’m considering going into one of the pods just to sleep through it.”

“It’s better for your body to fight through it,” Allura replied, her smile was fond.  “You still look quite flushed, and I don’t need to touch to tell you are warmer than you should be.”

Yeah, Shiro bet.  He could feel the way his hair was sticking to his skin, and he could barely prop himself up on the pillows, much less sit up properly.  Shiro offered a smile back, and another when Platt climbed up onto the bed, investigating.

“Probably for the best, but I don’t want anyone else to catch it.”

Allura nodded her understanding.  “I’ll do my best to keep them out.  I make no promises.  They’re all very worried.  Hunk made several batches of what he called Space Noodle Soup.”

Unable to help it, Shiro grinned.  “I appreciate that, though I’m not sure I can manage any.”

“You should at least have the water.”  Allura reached back for the tray, lifting it with Plachu still balancing carefully.  She set it down on his lap.  “We’ll see how you handle that, then you can try your soup.”

Shiro swirled the spoon with clinical interest, and smiled when he saw the kind of noodles.  Stars.  Hunk had actually made it with stars.  

Oh.  That explained the ‘space’ part.  Clever.

But it was still a bit much, so Shiro took the water packet instead and started to sip.  Another wave of dizziness hit, and he leaned back farther, trying to keep his head.  The fever was high enough that it was definitely affecting his mental state, if his dreams were anything to go off of, and Shiro had no desire to lose it in front of Allura.

When he cracked his eyes open again, she had paused again, and this time he could see that she was crinkling her nose.  “Is that smell normal?”

Shiro frowned back.  “What smell?”  He was so stuffed up that Shiro couldn’t even smell Hunk’s soup, which was right under his nose.

“Something smells off,” Allura replied carefully.  “Almost like rot.  Is that from your sickness?”

Shiro froze.

Oh no.

Oh no.  He’d meant to throw out the worst parts of his stash yesterday.  It had started to get gross again, like it always did, because Shiro never ate any of the things he stole from the kitchen.  They weren’t snacks, just something to hoard, just in case.

Shiro had noticed the smell himself the day before last, but he hadn’t been able to throw it out just then.  A little rotten was better than no food, after all, and Shiro just  _ couldn’t _ bring himself to throw away anything that was still edible.  What if he needed it?  What if his food was stolen?  If he went hungry, he’d still have to fight.  Then he’d die.

So Shiro had given in and gave himself another day.  After all, no one was ever in Shiro’s room.  If something smelled a little funny, it was no big deal.

Except then Shiro had passed out, and after waking in the medbay, he’d convinced Keith he was fine to go into his room and get into his pajamas alone.  It had been because he wasn’t fond of showing off all his scars, not for this.  Shiro had just totally forgotten.

And now the princess was the one smelling it.  Smelling that Shiro kept stealing food just to let it rot and stink up his room, for no reason other than that he couldn’t seem to help himself.

Some of his panic must have shown, because Allura’s eyes went wide.  “Is that a problem?  Is something wrong?  Let me call Coran.”

“No!”  The word came out powerfully, and Shiro doubled over to cough.  The movements made the ache that much worse, and by the end of it Shiro was queasy again.  “No, don’t.  It’s not from being sick.”

That did make Allura pause, at least.  She frowned at Shiro.  “Why else would it be?  Is there something wrong with your room?”

Goddammit.  “No, there’s something wrong with-”  _ with me.  _ But Shiro would be furious if he heard any of the others say that in this situation, so he bit off the words.  “I took some food a few days ago and forgot about it when I got sick, that’s all.”

Allura frowned at that, but she nodded and didn’t look at him like he was being irrational, which was good.  “Oh.  Alright.  Well, I can take that food back to the kitchen with me.”

Where Hunk was, and then he’d know about it too.  Shiro paled and resisted the urge to yell.  “That won’t be necessary.  I’ll take care of it.”

The frown deepened.  “Shiro, you can hardly sit up.  You won’t be taking these anywhere.”

“I’ll do it when I’m feeling better, then.  It’s not a big deal.”

“I am not leaving you in a room that smells like this when you’re already unwell!”

The argument raised both their voices, but it wasn’t enough to cover the quiet  _ clink _ in Shiro’s lap.  Glancing down, Shiro saw that Chuchule had their paws on the spoon, trying to lift it to get a taste.  And that registered to Shiro’s mind as ‘ _ something is trying to steal my food.’ _

Shiro snarled like he was the animal, and his hand came up, fingers curled into claws.

Chuchule let out a panicked squeak and dropped the spoon with a clatter.  Both they and Plachu scurried off the tray, hiding in the folds of Shiro’s blankets.

It was only then that Shiro realized what he’d done.

Hand dropping into his lap, Shiro stared at the terrified lumps that were two of the mice.  “I- I’m so sorry.  I just reacted.  It’s alright, I won’t hurt you.”

Plachu stuck their head up, ears still flat and eyes wide, and Shiro’s heart broke.

Dropping his head, Shiro closed his eyes hard.  “I’m sorry.”

Allura stepped closer.  “Shiro?  Would that reaction have something to do with why you’re so protective of this?”

“Yes,” Shiro admitted, small and ashamed.  “I’m sorry.”

There was a pause.  “I’m about to touch you.  Is that alright?”

Eyes snapping open, Shiro swallowed hard.  Well, if she was going to hit him for threatening the mice, she probably wasn’t going to ask permission.  “That’s fine.”

Allura squeezed Shiro’s shoulder gently.  “It’s alright.  We understand that some things are hard for you.  And your symptoms aren’t always pleasant.  But it’s alright to ask for help, even in things like this.  May I please clean out the food?”

Closing his eyes again, Shiro took a deep breath.  “I don’t like there not being food,” he admitted.  “Just in case.  I know it goes bad, but I feel better having it there.  Even when it’s not good, still.”

There was another pause, and Shiro braced to be told that was a bad idea.  Instead Allura made a thoughtful noise.  “I think there’s something that can be done about that.  For now, let me just get rid of what smells, alright?  There’s food here.  The soup will stay with you.”

That did help a little, though that Allura needed to coax him that way grated.  “That’s fine.”

“Thank you,” Allura replied.  She sounded honestly pleased, and Shiro wondered how he’d ended up in a world where his commanding officer was congratulating him for letting her clean up after his food.  This was absolutely ridiculous.  There was no reason on Earth - or any other planet, for that matter - that Allura should feel obligated to do this for him.  Not just because she was a princess and in command of him, either.

But Shiro couldn’t get up.  He physically couldn’t, or else he would, right now.  Instead he just wanted to kick himself for not doing it sooner.  He knew how this ended.  Why couldn’t he bring himself to fix this?

“Shiro,” Allura called, dragging his attention up.  “It’s alright.  I don’t mind helping.  There’s few other ways you’ll allow me to, and this will only take a few moments.”

Swallowing, Shiro nodded.  “It really is alright to leave it.  I can’t smell anything.”

But Allura’s dark look alone proved that was not an option.

“Rest,” she replied instead.  “The sooner you’re feeling well, the sooner you won’t be stuck in your bed.”

True enough.  “Thank you,” Shiro replied, even if he didn’t feel particularly thankful for the actions.  Allura was helping, and she’d brought him food  “And I hope the mice understand I’m sorry.”

“See for yourself.”  Indeed, Plachu and Chuchule and climbed out of their hiding spots, and Chulatt had finally joined the other three on the bed.  They climbed Shiro comfortably, finding cozy spots on his lap, and Plachu even clambered up to his shoulder.  Each of them made exaggerated stretching and twisting motions as they got comfortable in their chosen spots.  “I believe they wish to join you in resting.”

Chest warming, Shiro smiled.  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.  They’ll go flying when I have another coughing fit.”

“Well, then they’ll settle down again,” Allura replied.  She rummaged through Shiro’s drawer until she found the drawer with his stash, and there was a full body jerk as she reacted to the full smell.  Shiro closed his eyes hard and hated the situation anew.  But Allura didn’t say anything, and when he managed to look again, she was under control.

Really, she was being too polite about this.  “You don’t-”

Allura sighed.  “Shiro, I know I don’t have to.  But call this making up for the fact that you usually clean up after dinner, alright?  Or that you always keep the training room clean after practice.”

But both of those were just common decency.  

Ah, hell. It wasn’t worth the argument.  He’d make it up to her later.

“Thank you,” he repeated, and this time Shiro relaxed against the pillows.  His eyes itched badly enough that he closed them.

“You’re welcome,” Allura replied softly, and Shiro was asleep again.

***

When Shiro woke next, it wasn’t to coughing or nightmares.  It was to the sound of something heavy being moved.

When he managed to focus, he saw Coran in his room, lugging around something large.  “Good afternoon, Number One.  How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Shiro replied, totally out of habit.  “What’s goin’ on?”

Coran smiled.  “A solution.”

Blinking slowly, Shiro slumped back down.  He noticed, distantly, that the mice had left at some point.  It had been at least a few hours, which was one of the longer stretches Shiro had slept in a long time.  “Um.  Okay?”

“Let me finish this and I’ll explain.”  It only took a few minutes for Coran to place whatever it was against the wall and hook it up, and then he opened it.

Inside was food.  Fresh food.

It was a miniature ‘organic storage unit’, known to all the paladins as a space fridge.

Shiro would never have to worry about the food going bad.  Those things kept everything fresh for ages, according to Hunk and Coran.

It was a solution without Shiro having to give up food or keep letting it rot.  He wouldn’t have to deal with the shame of that anymore, without having to fight and lose to the  _ need _ to hoard food.

If Shiro teared up at that, he was totally comfortable blaming it on the illness.

“Thank you,” Shiro murmured, awed.

“You’re absolutely welcome.  It’s no problem at all.”  Coran leaned against the wall.  “In the future, please do try and share these sorts of issues with us.  We might be able to help in ways you might not have thought of.”

Staring at the proof of that, Shiro nodded.  “I will.”

And he meant it.


	4. When I Was Younger

There were a lot of things they still didn’t understand about Shiro’s arm.

Top on that list was ‘what can it do?’

Pidge had argued with Shiro on more than one occasion that his top priority should be understanding how it worked.  But that just wasn’t realistic.  With Ulaz gone, there was no one they could ask to get better answers, and unless they found full plans on his arm at some point, it was just unlikely they’d fully understand the ins and outs of it. 

And frankly, Shiro would like to know - the fact that he didn’t have answers itched under his skin and in the back of his mind,  _ what is happening to my body?  _ \- but he didn’t have the time or energy to examine every little change and hiccup.  After a certain point, what mattered to Shiro was that it worked and he could use it to keep his team safe.  Everything else was secondary.

At times like this, Shiro thought Pidge might be right.

The arm glowed at his side, hot enough that Shiro was starting to sweat on the right side of his body.  But he couldn’t turn it off, no matter how hard he concentrated.  Instead, it continued to buzz against the metal below him, leaving furrows and gouges where it remained stubbornly limp.

If Shiro hadn’t been sweating from that, he definitely would have been from the sight of the Druid ahead of them.  He hadn’t known he knew those masks until recently, but  _ damn _ did he know them.  He could have drawn them in painfully accurate detail with his eyes closed.  He knew what the robes would feel like under his hands, knew the sound of their breath from behind it.  Knew the lights behind them, purple and bright, the feeling of heat in his veins as he was injected and his brain hazed away into pained, forced rest-

No.  Now was not the time.  Shiro took deep, gasping breaths, trying to keep from going into a panic attack.

There were handprints and scrapings through the metal that proved how well Shiro had held off the last few times.  Physical evidence of how little control he had over his body and mind alike.

Shiro swallowed against bile and  _ focused. _

The platform under Shiro pulsed quietly, dark purple lights originating from where his arm rested.  Apparently he hadn’t managed to damage it more than cosmetically, and no matter how hard he kicked and pulled, the cuffs on his ankles stayed as firmly in place as if they’d been welded down.  When Shiro yanked hard enough to strain his legs, he could see little sparks of the same purple light.

He suspected they were using the energy from his arm to power the magnetic force keeping him in place.

He was the battery for his own high-tech chains.

Shiro shivered and glared at the Druid.

They paid him no mind, gaze fixed on the screens in front of them.  Data flashed by in rapid Galra, and while Shiro could understand and speak a small amount, he knew very little of the writing system.  No one needed a gladiator to read, after all; all his cues had been auditory.

If Shiro understood the arm better, maybe he could have avoided the way the Druid flicked their fingers and brought it to unwilling life.  If he knew more about the energy powering it - quintessence, he assumed? - maybe he would have known they’d use it to power their tools.

If Shiro knew anything about his arm, maybe he’d know what they were collecting the rest of his energy for.

After thirty minute or so of this, Shiro was already starting to haze.  But it was hard to tell if it was because he was being drained (it was just the arm, right?  It had to have some sort of power source, no matter that Coran, Pidge and Hunk had never managed to pinpoint what), or if it was from the constant attacks of his own mind.

From somewhere far away, there was a powerful crashing noise.  The entire compound shook, making the screens flicker.  The Druid whirled, looking in the direction of the explosion.

Shiro panted, caught between terror and hope.  Was that his team and the castle?  Had they finally managed to locate him?  

But it could be anything, and in his state of mind, the loud noises equated to  _ pain. _  To something huge and lumbering powering through the arena, threatening to knock down the towers.  To Myzax’s signature weapon, whistling through the hair and crashing through the base of the stands, showering Shiro in the resulting dust.  The creaking of metal sounded like the shrieking of a beast as Shiro rammed his metal hand through their eye, despite his best attempts to struggle and pull himself away.

They’d always been able to control the arm.  They’d been able to take control of it to attack and to manipulate Shiro  _ this whole time _ and he hadn’t known.

This time, when Shiro managed to come back to himself, the arm was growing brighter than before, a response to his building distress.  As he made himself relax, it flickered back down to the constant aching drain.

Huh.  He could control it that way, then.  Until now, Shiro had been trying to move it or to slow the energy transfer, not to increase it.  Apparently they had no problems with him adding more energy.

Well, fair enough.  Shiro didn’t see how that could be useful.  He didn’t know what this energy was going to be used for.  For all he knew, he was charging up some kind of blaster that would be used to knock his team right out of the black of space.

The violation of it made him shiver anew, even as the Druid disappeared in a buff of dark magic.

God, Shiro hated the magic.  Sure, the lions weren’t totally robotic, and quintessence had saved them all so many times, but he vastly preferred Allura and Coran’s usually more clinical, scientific treatment of quintessence to the Druid’s air of mysticism and ritual.  To the Alteans, magic was something to be understood and used widely.  For Haggar, it was something to be obscured and to frighten.

Okay.  Now he was alone.

Shiro needed to figure out what he was going to  _ do. _

If that was his team - and he suspected it was, or else they were all in a very different kind of trouble - then Shiro needed to be free so they could all get out of here.  A rescue wasn’t very productive if Shiro couldn’t get off the floor.

So okay.  Step one.  Ankle cuffs.

Shiro’s left hand was free.  He wasn’t sure why that was, other than that it seemed pretty useless: they could use another cuff on that hand, but it wasn’t like he could touch his right arm to free himself.  When he scrambled his nails against the ones on him, Shiro tried to find the hinge.  There was one, but it was so thin he doubted he could have slid a piece of paper between the pieces of metal.  

Probably sealed by magic.

Stupid freaking magic.

Okay, so Shiro didn’t think he could interrupt the magnetic pull.  There was nothing he could put between the cuffs and the platform to act as a block (as if that would help a magnet this strong, anyway).  That meant the had to get free of the metal, and it didn’t seem like he was going to be able to do anything through sheer human force.

So scratch that.  Ankle cuffs were step two.  His arm was step one.

Except at least he could move his ankles.  The arm was just as limp as ever, just as active as ever, continuing to placidly give up energy.

Shiro closed his eyes and concentrated, this time not working on stopping the power, but on increasing it.  Something in the arm whined with it, but when he looked, Shiro could see it was brighter than before.

So he could still consciously control it. 

What did he do with that information?

Leaning forward, Shiro tugged his whole upper body forward.  The limp arm dragged a couple of inches forward, making an awful shearing sound as it cut through the platform.

Maybe he could damage it enough that it would stop absorbing his energy?  If that was the case, it wouldn’t be able to keep his ankles down.  As long as it didn’t have some kind of energy storage or secondary power source.

Still, it was the best plan Shiro had so far.

Pushing off on his toes for leverage, Shiro jerked his shoulder forward, trying to edge the arm closer to the cuffs.  It moved painfully slowly, a couple of inches for each desperate surge, and ten minutes passed before he managed to move it even a foot.

Worse, Shiro was pretty sure that something was definitely draining him.  Shiro had always thought that the arm couldn’t be pulling from him directly; that was a lot of energy, and while he was tired after using it, it wasn’t the sort of sheer exhaustion he’d expect for powering such a energy-heavy weapon.

But Shiro also had enough energy to help power one of the Lions after Haggar’s blast.  All of the paladins did.  So maybe, in the grand scheme of things, the arm ran off less energy than Shiro thought.  At least in relative terms.  It would explain why Shiro survived the procedure when Haggar’s comments implied that many hadn’t.

That also implied that Sendak was powerful enough to be a paladin.

Gross.

Focus.  Focusing.  Patience.  No, not patience: Shiro didn’t want to be patient.  He wanted to be out.

Yeah, he was definitely tired.

Another crash rocked the compound, this time much closer.  Shiro heard the sound of metal rending, screeching against itself, _ of footsteps just feet from him, huge and heavy and metal and inhuman.  Alien.  Inorganic. _

_ “If you are worthy of me, you will survive,” Haggar said, smile wide and fanged, as she shoved him ahead. _

_ Red eyes stared back, glowing mechanically, unmoving and eerie.  The creature stepped forward, then jolted, mouth opening to reveal row after row of teeth in a drooling maw, their huge metal claws screeching into the floor with each bounding step.  A wolf and a bear had a baby, surrogate from something Shiro had no name for, and then converted into this metal horror. _

_ But Shiro had a weapon in times like this.  He rolled out of the way, then reached out, hand alighting, then a step beyond, crackling with energy.  The moment his palm touched the mechanical beast, it jolted like it was shocked and then fell to the floor, the red eyes flickering out. _

The sound of crackling continued as Shiro blinked himself back into sudden awareness.  Under him, the platform pulsed, faster and brighter than before, nearly wild.  Cracks formed under Shiro’s metal hand as it glowed more brightly than Shiro had never seen.  Light flashed off it, black and dangerous-looking, and liquid pain ran through Shiro’s veins.

He’d felt this before.  The very first time Shiro had activated the arm after his captivity, it had felt like this.

This time, it didn’t stop.

Electricity, Shiro realized.  It felt like touching a livewire.  This was what his arm had been trying to do, and then settled on the lower-power option of just heated metal.

But this was what he needed.  And Shiro couldn’t stop the energy, but he could increase it.

With a shout, Shiro pressed down hard into the platform. It gave under his hand, crackling with its own energy along the spiderweb cracks, and then went suddenly dark.

Shiro stood, his ankles still cuffed but no longer stuck to the floor, and took a deep breath.  Slowly, his arm powered down into its usual state, and when Shiro touched over the shell, it felt no different than before.

Exhaustion hit him, so sudden and strong he nearly fell back over.

No time for that.  Shiro had to move.

Or not, apparently, as the door burst open.  Hunk rammed through, bayard out ahead of him like he’d used it as a battering ram, and he beamed at the sight of him.  “Shiro!”  The rest of the team clamored in after him, no less excited.

Shiro was excited to see them too, but just looking at their enthusiasm was reminding him how  _ tired _ he was.

“Good to see-” Shiro cut off as a blast of crackling energy burst through the room, exploding against the wall.  The Druid chased the team in, mask expressionless but their body language furious.  They visibly paused at seeing Shiro standing and the platform shattered.

Following their gaze down, Shiro managed a smile.  “Sorry, I think I broke it.”

“More are waiting for you,” the Druid replied - the first time Shiro had heard their voice since being taken.

It was familiar.

This was the Druid that Shiro had remembered, the one Ulaz had knocked out to let him escape.

No wonder they were so upset.  This would be strike two.  And Shiro didn’t think Haggar believed in giving three of those.

There was a shot, and the Druid disappeared as a blue shot fired where they’d been.  A moment later, claws wrapped around Shiro’s left arm, pulling him back.  He teetered immediately, balance totally shot by the effort of simply remaining standing, and Shiro found himself standing between the Druid and his team.

A meat shield.

Great.

“Let him go!” Keith snarled, taking a step forward.  But the Druid’s hands crackled with energy, and Shiro screamed.  It was the same kind of pain as when he’d used whatever it was that he’d done to free himself, only multiplied several times over.

“The Champion will not survive another,” the Druid informed them.  “It is too drained.  It will be a shame to lose such a useful specimen, but it will die before you recover it.”

Spots danced in Shiro’s eyes and he slumped forward, kept upright only from remaining balance and the iron grip still digging into Shiro’s arm.

Pidge grabbed onto Keith’s wrist, keeping him from moving forward.  Even in the state he was in, Shiro could see the sheer calculation in her eyes as she tried to figure out how to get them out of this one.

That wasn’t needed.  Shiro had a plan of his own.

So he laughed, wild and pained and utterly unlike himself.  “Hey, neat trick.”

Then Shiro’s arm activated as he started to return the favor.  Twisting, he jabbed the activated arm into the face mask.  It cracked, and Shiro saw the face below.

There was a moment of pure shock: Shiro doubted they’d thought Shiro had the energy for this.

Joke was on them.  He  _ didn’t _ .  Shiro just didn’t care enough to let that stop him.

So he concentrated for just a moment, and more energy crackled through, black-purple and smelling like ozone.

Shiro heard the Druid scream, and for a moment he could smell burning fur, see the hated, rough robes start to singe, saw the eyes he’d never met before haze in pain.

Then the Druid erupted into smoke, either in death or to flee.  Shiro hoped it was the former.

Stumbling backward, Shiro’s foot caught the edge of the platform, and he went down hard.

“Shiro!” Keith called, next to him in a second.  “Shiro, are you okay?”

“How did you do that?” Pidge asked.  “Did they do something to you?  We need to check that out.”

Arms slid behind him, and Shiro groaned as he was lifted.  “We need to go.”  Hunk, this time.  Made sense.  No one else was going to pick Shiro up.  Shiro imagined Pidge trying, her small form straining to raise him off the ground, and Shiro giggled into Hunk’s chestplate.  

Okay, yeah, he was pretty out of it.

There was another of those explosions, and Lance let out a snort.  “I think we have a ride here.  What do you want to bet that’s the Black Lion?”

“I’ll go with him,” Hunk replied.  “I don’t think he’s flying in this state.  Are you, Shiro?”

Huh?  Did they need something?

“We’ll go back in Green,” Lance agreed.  “We’ll cover for you.  Lemme just-” Shiro’s helmet activated, covering his face.  Were they going outside?  But this was inside.

Shiro was really tired.

“We’ve got you,” Keith said, voice quiet and echoing slightly in Shiro’s closed helmet. “You’re safe now.”

Oh, good.  Then Shiro could nap.

He was going to do that.

***

“If it hurts, stop doing it,” Keith said, leaning against a wall.  His eyes were painfully sharp as they watched each of Shiro’s moves.

It seemed like he hadn’t taken Shiro’s kidnapping very well.  None of them had, really.  Shiro had been fussed over and followed more in the past 24 hours than he had in the previous month.

But it wasn’t like Shiro could even pretend to be upset at that.

Turning his arm over, Shiro shrugged.  “It’s not that bad.”

Hunk frowned, gesturing for Shiro to shut off the arm.  He did, and Hunk took it in his hands, carefully turning it around.  “I don’t like the way it drains you,” he admitted.  “It feels dangerous.”

“We might be able to hook up, like, an external battery back.  Keep it in the lions in case of arm emergencies.”  At the various looks, Pidge snorted.  “What?  He’s not going to stop just because we don’t like it.  So might as well be prepared for when he breaks it out.”

Shiro frowned.  “I think I can be trusted to be reasonable with this.”

Holding up his hand, Lance made a so-so gesture.  “Eh.  Maybe.  You’ll use it when you think it’s needed.  But you do have a tendency to throw yourself into these things, Shiro.”

Well, true.

“Can you even control it?”  Keith asked.

“As well as anything else,” Shiro admitted.  “I just forgot I could do this in the first place.”  And it was more uncomfortable than those.  He suspected his body wasn’t made for these kinds of charges.

So, Shiro wouldn’t use it for just anything.  Most of the time, the arm’s normal functions were just fine.  But they were right: if the need arose, Shiro wasn’t going to ignore that he could do this now.

Studying his face, Hunk sighed.  “Good call, Pidge.”

“I’ll save it for emergencies,” Shiro told them calmly.  “And we’ll figure out the rest of this later.  For now, maybe a break?”  This really wasn’t helping any of their stress levels.

“Good plan, Bossman,” Lance replied, clapping him on the left shoulder.  “I think we deserve a movie.”

Pidge frowned at her data pad.  “I was going to look over what we learned.”

Shaking his head, Shiro ruffled her hair.  “It’ll keep for a couple of hours.”  As much as Shiro wanted to know, leaving Pidge and Hunk alone in a lab to crunch numbers about how dangerous his arm’s new function was could only end badly right now.

Besides, as they headed out to the rec room, nearly running into each other from how close they were staying, Shiro thought some relaxing group time was just what the doctor ordered.

Though, as they settled in, Shiro had to wonder-

_ What else can the arm do? _

There was really no way of knowing.  

So long as Shiro could keep using it to protect his team, though, he didn’t regret any of it.


	5. I Feel Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Thursdays. Ha. Hahaha. Oops.
> 
> Also, if you follow me on Tumblr, or read all my fill collections, you'll probably recognize the shape of this. I wanted to expand on the idea a little more, so here we are.

Pidge kept  _ everything. _

That also extended to files.

The lab had a table full of old drives, all filled to the brim with Galra information, transmissions and files.  Most were organized by when and how they were found, rather than by content.  

Which made going through them a chore.

Shiro flicked his fingers, making the screen floating ahead of him zoom in on the documents.  It was all written in Galra, but the castle’s translation program dealt with that, at least a little.  Unfortunately, handwriting seemed to be harder for it, and so Shiro was missing one word in five.

Still, it seemed like it was just some kind of employee record.  It was nothing more interesting than a Galra soldier who had once worked under Sendak.  Originally, Shiro had tried to read through every piece of information on each of these files, trying to find out anything useful about the Empire as a whole.  But he’d quickly given up on that.  It was a lot of headache for no reward.

Flicking it away, Shiro added in the appropriate metadata on his pad (so they could actually find any of these files later, if the need ever arose), then scrubbed over his face.  “Okay, I think I need to switch it up.”

From two seats away, Lance groaned his agreement.  “Can’t we just do paperwork instead?  Or go fight some Galra commanders or something?  I’m going cross-eyed.  At this rate, I’m going to be the one that needs glasses.”

Yanking off her own, Pidge handed them to Lance, brows up.  “This help?”

Lance huffed, then snatched them out of his hands and put them on. “You’re never getting these back.”

“Fine.  I have copies.”  Pidge shrugged, unbothered.  “If you’re done with those, Shiro, you can take the one on the table instead.  It’s full of video and audio files, and they’re all totally unlabeled.  I barely got started on those since they take so long to get through.”

Scrubbing over his face, Keith huffed.  “Split it with me, Shiro?  I can’t keep looking at these star charts.”

Really, Shiro should have just traded with Keith completely.  Those star charts were at least potentially useful in terms of trade routes and more up to date information.  But they could just plug that one into the computer for those parts, and anything else Shiro found would barely be worth it.  

Plus, he really didn’t want to keep looking at static images anymore.

“Me too,” Hunk agreed.  “Something short?  I’m about to go make dinner.”

“Escape, you mean,” Lance muttered, shooting Hunk a flat look.  “You don’t want to suffer with us?”

Hunk shrugged, not bothering to deny it.  “I suffer with you guys all the time.  But this is painful.”

It really was, but there was too much of a chance for useful information.  So they had to go through as much of it as possible.  And it was easier on everyone to do it as a group.

Didn’t make it suck less.

“How about I put the video on the larger screen,” Shiro offered.  “Moving images will be a lot of data, and that way we won’t have to do multiple viewings of it.”

That and Shiro suspected that they’d all just end up riffing on whatever was on these videos.  Which sounded like a good break for everyone.

Lance shot Shiro such a thankful grin that he knew he’d made the right call.  “Cool.  These are ones you haven’t seen, right, Pidge?”

Glancing at him, Pidge nodded slowly, and then more strongly.  “Yeah. I was sure not to mix in anything I already knew about.  For one, that’s a waste of all our time.”

Neither of them looked over at them, so Shiro pretended he didn’t know what they were talking about.  Instead, he worked on setting up the hard drive to the console, and then projecting a larger screen against a bare wall.  Turning his chair to face it better, Shiro paused.  “Should I turn down the lights?”  

“It’s not like we’re going to be looking at these files,” Keith replied.  “Go for it.”

It did feel a bit more movie-like this way.  Which, really, was a problem.  This was supposed to be serious.

But eh, screw it.  It made Shiro’s growing headache feel a little better, at least.

With a flick, Shiro started up the first video.

Immediately, the screen was filled with the images of Galra cruisers and warships, but not in any sort of combat.  Instead, it was slow panning shots, quick images of the canons firing on nothing, and interior shots of the main bridge.

_ ‘The Galra fleets are the most powerful in the Galaxy.  Nothing is about to stand in the way of the glorious expansion of our Empire, in the name of Emperor Zarkon.’ _

Shiro had never heard a Galra voice sound that... blandly pleasant, and it was over simple, unobtrusive noises that might have been music.

“This is, like, a PSA, isn’t it?” Lance breathed, eyes wide.  “Like those really terrible ‘city of the future’ movies from the twentieth century.”

Oh.  That’s exactly what they wore.  It even had that same too-perky-to-be-real tone.  Huh.  Who knew that was a universal constant?

God, Galra propaganda was boring.  Then again, in ten thousand years of expansion, there was no other competition to make them be better.  Everyone was raised with this as the simple truth.

It was much less funny with that perspective.

“Maybe that’s the real secret to beating the Galra Empire,” Pidge mused blandly.  “Better marketing.  We use our superior Earth entertainment skills to create propaganda that completely wows everyone after millenia of this crap.”

Keith groaned.  “Can’t we just keep fighting them?  I prefer that.”

Biting back a smile, Shiro glanced back over at the others.  “I don’t know, Voltron Production Company sounds pretty good.”

“Voltron Lights and Sound,” Lance mused.  “Not quite the same ring to it, huh?”

“Universal Pictures,” Hunk offered, making Lance groan.  

Keith squinted.  “I think that one’s taken.”

“Yes, Hunk was making a-” The music on the track changed, suddenly changing to something a lot more bold and loud.  Before he’d fully registered what it was, Shiro was on his feet, one fist placed over the base of his sternum and spine completely straight.  

The move was completely out of his control, and Shiro found himself breathing hard, sure that something  _ terrible _ was about to happen, that he was about to have to go and fight, that he was going to hurt or do something terrible.

_ Veprit Sa. _

The words didn’t quite come out, but Shiro’s jaw twitched with the urge to say them, so powerful it made him feel lightheaded.

Saluting.  He was saluting.

This was the anthem of the Galra Empire, and Shiro was  _ saluting to it. _

All the blood left Shiro’s face as he swayed, for a moment trying and failing to move out of the posture.  He  _ couldn’t. _  Shiro wasn’t allowed, and if he stopped saluting for the song, he’d be hurt, so he shouldn’t.

Eventually, Shiro was able to shake off the sudden surety of it and relax at least somewhat.  He wants breathing like he’d run ten miles and shaking, but he was able to drop his hand.

When he managed to blink and look away, he realized everyone was staring at him.

They’d seen him salute to  _ this. _

Collapsing back into his chair, Shiro covered his ears.  “Change it.  Change it  _ now!” _

It was more of a snarl than a request, but Pidge scrambled for a pad.  After a moment, the music stopped.

Instead, it was replaced with a familiar buzzer noise.

Shiro was back on his feet in a moment, arms up in a fighting stance and his Galra hand ignited.  The fight had begun, and the room was dark and there were multiple targets-  

When one stood up and moved closer, Shiro rolled out of the way.  He placed the natural hand on the floor as a pivot point, getting back onto his feet before the momentum had run out.  Tensing, he prepared to jump at the opponent when they shouted.

“Shiro!”

How did they know his name?  It was never Shiro.  Only Champion.

“Shiro, you’re at the castle.  This is the Castle of Lions, Shiro, look around.”

The oddity of the request made him pause, and he glanced to the sides.  This...

This wasn’t an arena.  He wasn’t there anymore.

This was his team, and he stared at Keith, who he’d very nearly pounced on with an active arm.

The noise and lights from the movie cut off, leaving Shiro shivering in place, suddenly and achingly aware that all of his team had just seen  _ all of that. _

Pushing himself up, Shiro took one look at the wide-eyed looks of his team.

Then he shoved himself to his feet and did the only thing he could think of.

He ran.

***

Later, when the terror had worn off and Shiro was alone in his room, he could admit he was mostly embarrassed.

All of those reactions had been terrible.  It was horrifying, that all it took was a certain noise for Shiro to suddenly turn back into their trained captive.  He’d had no idea any of those things were in his head.  

Even now, Shiro didn’t remember being made to salute like that.  It might have been later, from the times he had the least memories, but when he would have had the arm already.  Would have already had Haggar’s eyes and expectations on him.

Shivering at the thought, Shiro turned over on his bed and grabbed onto his pillow.  He tucked it against his chest like a stuffed animal.

It didn’t really help, but letting go felt like an impossible task.

The buzzer he did remember, but only vaguely.  It made sense, though, that it would set him off.  It had only ever heralded another horrible time, where either he’d kill or be killed, and he nearly always came out of it in pain.

So Shiro could understand why he reacted like that, but it still made his stomach turn to realize it happened without his permission.  He wasn’t doing it because he knew a guard was watching, or because it was a life or death situation.

Shiro had just  _ done it, _ with no use of his brain.

Like a trained dog, sitting up on command.

No, like a trained attack dog.

Gagging, Shiro curled up tighter just as there was a knock on his door.

Shit.  Why had he come back to his room?  Shiro didn’t want to face anyone right now, but this was the obvious place to come.  If he ignored them, would they assume he wasn’t here and go away?

Maybe.  Or they’d use the override on his door, or get Allura to use it.  And then Shiro would have to answer why he’d ignored them.

At least this way, he could let them in under his own power.

Taking a deep breath, Shiro pressed his face to the pillow, absorbing the few remaining tears.  Hopefully it had been enough time that the tear stains had faded. Then he stood and moved to the door.

All four of the other paladins stood in his doorway.

Ah, hell.

“Are you okay?” Lance let out immediately.  There was a flash of movement that might have been Pidge elbowing him, so that probably hadn’t been their plan for tackling this.

The fact that they had to tackle it at all sat heavily on Shiro’s shoulders.

“I’m fine,” he replied as evenly as he could.  “I just needed a little while to adjust.”

Pidge frowned at him, expression darkening.  “Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

She opened her mouth and took a breath, but Hunk reached over and put a hand on her shoulder.  “Okay,” he replied instead.  “If you say so.”

That was such an unexpected answer that Shiro froze, but he relaxed immediately after.  Thank god.  This was something Shiro needed to handle.  It was downright  _ dangerous _ for him to react that way, especially since the places they were most likely to hear it was in Galra territory.  But this was his own problem to tackle.

It was dangerous, for one.  Shiro heard that buzzer and he’d been ready to fight.  Been prepared to kill.  And it took terrifyingly long for him recognize where he was and who he was fighting.

Besides, it was just... it was sickening.  Shiro didn’t want them to see him like that.  Saluting to the Galra anthem like a drone.  It made his skin crawl.

“Hunk?” Keith asked, brow furrowing.  “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Hunk said.  “If Shiro says he’s got it, he does. So instead of all that, how about we go to the kitchen?  Pidge left her project there, and the rest of you can help me with a few more batches of cookies.  I think I have everything I need to try another round of substitution materials.”

Lance narrowed his eyes, and for a moment there was naked calculation in them.  Then he beamed, sudden and wide.  “Sounds like a plan.  I’m dying without you at full capacity, Hunk.  It’s been months since I’ve had one of your spiced double chocolate cookies.”

“I know!”  Hunk rested a hand over his chest, eyes closed as if in mourning.  “And since you all are going to get some, you should help me out testing them.”

If Shiro had to be handled, this was probably the best possible way.  “Are you sure you want my help?”

Hunk flapped a hand.  “We’ll keep you on stirring duty.”

“Not sure that’ll be enough,” Keith muttered, but there was a pleased upturn to his lips when he glanced back at Shiro.  “But we can try.”

Snorting, Lance threw an easy arm around Hunk’s shoulders, even if he had to tug Hunk down into a slouch to manage.  “In a fight, I take Hunk’s culinary prowess over Shiro’s disaster tendencies any day.”

“That’s the only fight with Shiro I’d win,” Hunk replied, grinning easily.

Pidge snorted. “Oh, please.  I’ve seen what you can bench press.”

“Shiro has the arm,” Keith pointed out.  “It’s kind of an advantage.”

“Hunk has being Hunk,” Lance shot back, eyes brightening competitively.  “You think he can’t.  I bet you!”

Oh, boy.  “Guys,” Shiro called, putting a hand between them and pushing away his worries with practiced ease.  “This isn’t necessary.”

“And Shiro’s arm can lift you and me combined,” Keith replied.  “It’s not a fair fight, is what I’m saying.”

“So can Hunk!”  Lance insisted.

“One handed?”

Pidge snorted.  “You know, there’s an easy way of settling this.  Arm wrestling.”

Pulling Hunk down another inch with his arm, Lance rested a hand on his chest.  “My man Hunk has got this.”

“Um,” Hunk replied, looking deeply uncomfortable.

And, really, how could Shiro resist that?  “I’ll use my left arm,” he offered.  “Keith’s right that it’s not very fair.”

Something about Shiro’s tone - probably the slightest, playful hint of talking down, nothing serious - finally made Hunk’s eyes narrow.  “Alright, you’re on.”

Which was how they ended up making exactly zero batches of cookies, and ended up having an arm wrestling tournament instead.

“You’re all ridiculous,” Pidge told them, as if it hadn’t been her idea in the first place.  She’d bowed out, citing ‘nerdy noodle arms’ as a medical excuse, no matter how much of a lie it was.  Instead, she picked up whatever it was she’d left on the table and continued to tinker.

In a best two out of three, Shiro won the first two, mostly because Hunk was too shy to really go all out.  

But Shiro wasn’t one to take a pity win, so instead he rested his chin on his palm and shot Hunk a smug smile. “Hey, how about for the next one, you get to save everyone from warm-up laps tomorrow? And if you lose, double laps.”

Hunk started and bit his bottom lip.  “You can’t just change the rules like that at the end!” He insisted, tone raising like he was scandalized.

“Whoops, I think I just did.”  Shiro waggled his fingers  “If you win it won’t be a problem, you know.”

Lance leaned forward, eyes almost fever bright.  “Hunk, you can do it!  Take him up on it, it’s his off arm and no laps!”

“It’s Hunk’s off arm too,” Keith pointed out, but he nodded to Hunk.  “But you probably can, with his left arm.”

“I knew you’d come around!”  Lance crowed.

Keith scowled.  “I was never not around!  But I was right that the Galra arm isn’t fair.”

Before they could start up that argument  _ again, _ Hunk reached out and took Shiro’s hand again.  “You’re on,” he said, and this time there was fire in his eyes.

Shiro grinned.

Hunk pinned his arm in about ten seconds.

“Best three out of five?” Shiro asked, his own smile going vicious.  Lance was outright cheering in the background, trying to engage Keith in his Voltron chant (and at this point, Keith’s refusal to understand was  _ definitely _ him screwing with Lance).

For a moment, Hunk hesitated, probably looking for any sign of Shiro being upset at losing.  When he found none, he smiled and put out his hand again.  “Sure.”

Hunk won both rounds, but with a lot more struggle this time around.

As Shiro rubbed his arm and laughed, Lance settled into the chair next to Hunk’s.  “Now do me while you’re still aching,” he offered, grinning impishly.

Smiling innocently, Shiro offered his Galra hand.  “This one’s fine.”

Eyeing it, Lance shrugged and switched his too.  “Yeah, alright, I’m game.”

Shiro’s brows jumped in surprise, but he shrugged and reached out.  Rather than try to push Lance’s hand down at all, Shiro just kept his own perfectly in place.  Lance shoved as hard as he could with one hand, but when that did nothing, he added a second, and then pushed down his whole weight.  It took a solid two minutes of struggle before Lance tired himself out, only having moved it a couple of inches.

“So maybe that is unfair,” Lance finally allowed, dropping to the table with a huff.

Snorting, Pidge closed up whatever it was she was working on.  “I coulda told you that.”

“I  _ did _ tell him that,” Keith muttered.

Waving that off, Pidge moved over to sit next to Shiro.  “So, this is for you. To help.”

The rest of the day came crashing back down.  Tensing, Shiro swallowed hard and resisted the urge to scoot away from her.  “I have it under control.”

“Shiro,” Hunk said quietly, sitting down on his other side.  “You can, sure, but you don’t  _ have _ to.  And this is more like...”

“It’s a tool to help,” Pidge said, her eyes so bright they were almost uncomfortable to look at.  “And you need to take it, because the reason all that stuff happened was that you saved my brother, so you’re going to let me help.”

It was stated almost matter of factly, except for the slightest wobble to Pidge’s voice.

Shiro’s chest felt too warm and tight as he tried to breath.  “It’s not- it would have happened anyway, Pidge.”

“At least hear it out,” Lance suggested.  “And if you don’t want it, you don’t have to use it.  But you don’t even know what you’re turning down.”

That was painfully reasonable.  Shiro winced, trying and failing to come up with a way out of it other than ‘I don’t want to.’  Finally, he sighed.  “Alright.  What is it?”

Pidge flipped it over, and Shiro could see a digital display.  “It’s basically just an audio player.  It has a few noises from those videos, like the buzzer and the anthem.  You’re conditioned, Shiro.  It’s not a slight on you.  That’s just how brains work.  You learned to associate certain patterns with certain behaviors.  But the best way to break it is to experience those stimuli without the results.”

“It’ll all be under your control,” Keith added.  “And you can put in Pidge’s headphones and listen to it whenever you feel comfortable.”

It was...

It wasn’t a bad idea.  These were reactions Shiro couldn’t afford to have.  What if they experienced them in the field?  How long could they go without hearing the Galra anthem at some point?

But Shiro  _ didn’t want to. _

“You don’t have to use it right away,” Hunk added.  “It’s when you feel comfortable.  It’s probably pretty close to the surface right now.  But tomorrow if you have some time you can try it and see how it works for you.”

Pidge nodded.  “If you prefer to use it alone in your room, you can.  But you can also use it when we’re watching TV or something.  That way, there’s more to keep you grounded.”

So Shiro didn’t send himself into a flashback.  Because this was essentially consciously doing that.

Stomach turning, Shiro rested his hand on top of the machine and resisted the sudden, dark urge to just  _ crush _ it before anyone could expect him to use it.  But it was a good tool and Pidge had no doubt worked hard on it, so Shiro took a deep breath and kept his palm open.  

“We’ll see,” Shiro hedged.  “Thank you.”

Pidge nodded, then pushed up.  “I thought there was supposed to be cookies?”

Nodding, Hunk popped up too.  “Right.  We’ll just do the one batch for now.”

As they worked on trying to make cookies that tasted like chocolate without the benefit of actual chocolate, Shiro tucked the little machine into his pocket and did his best to forget about it.

It felt heavier than it had any right to.

***

The first time Shiro listened to the device, he played the anthem alone in his room.

Even aware he was going to do it, Shiro was unprepared for the sheer  _ discomfort _ of trying to ignore the conditioning.  His body was absolutely sure that he had to do this or else he would be hurt, and it took most of the song for Shiro to convince himself to sit back down.  He immediately flinched and curled up, the music echoing in his ears, loud and bold and hateful.

No pain came, but Shiro trembled in anticipation of it for the whole song.

At the end, Shiro yanked off the headphones and shoved the whole thing in the storage by the head of the bed.  Then he buried his face in the pillow and hated the stupid machine, hated that awful song, hated every time he’d stood and saluted for the Galra.

Shiro especially hated his body, more than he had since he first saw the scars.

***

As much as Shiro didn’t want to keep doing this, he knew he should.  The possible consequences were so much worse than the discomfort.  His dreams were filled with memories of fights and songs, but Shiro’s waking mind offered different nightmares.  Ones where he heard the buzzer and attacked a member of his team, or he saluted and stood still while they were fired on and shot down.

It hadn’t happened yet, true, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t.  

And, besides, Shiro didn’t want to be this way.  The idea that the Galra had implanted action in him was sickening, and this was the best way to get rid of it.

So he practiced.  Every day, as much as his schedule permitted, he took fifteen minutes.  First was the anthem, and Shiro listened to that while he worked out.  It gave him something physical to do other than be afraid, which helped.  Then he’d sit down and make himself stay down as he listened to the buzzer.  He’d do that twice, then the anthem again.  Sometimes he managed to add another buzzer or two, but usually not - by then, Shiro was aching and tired and unhappy, and he’d go over documents or read translated Altean novels until he had a little more space.

Slowly, Shiro started to react less.  Bit by bit, he took back control of his mind and body.  There might never be a day where those noises wouldn’t make Shiro flinch and tense, but at least it wasn’t overwhelming, mindless obedience anymore.

Then, Shiro realized there was a problem.

Shiro could deal with those noises when he was prepared for them.  But what if he wasn’t?  Would he still react then?  Would it overwhelm him when he wasn’t expecting it?

It wasn’t something Shiro could leave to chance.

Which meant it was time to talk to Pidge.

***

“I could randomize it for you,” Pidge offered, rolling the audio player in his fingers.  “Just leave it running and have the headphones over one ear.  You could even set a timer, so it’d go off a certain amount of times over a certain period of time.  And I could randomize it so you wouldn’t know what’s coming, either.”

Shiro nodded, offering her a smile.  “Sounds perfect.”

That made Pidge’s brows rise.  “Sounds like torture, but unfortunately, it’s necessary torture.”  Pausing, Pidge tapped on it, then looked up at him.  “There’s an alternative, you know.”

Tilting his head, Shiro leaned back in his chair.  “Like what?”

“I could make it remote controlled,” Pidge offered.  “Then you give it to one of us.  I don’t really like having this automated.  It won’t be reactive to you.  If you need a breather, you’ll have to pause it, and if you’re having a flashback, you won’t always be able to do that.”

Shiro frowned.   “I’ve managed so far.”

That didn’t make Pidge look any happier.  “I know.  But those were just playing once.  Unless you sat there with your finger on the button, it would just end after.  This would keep playing until the timer was over.  You could wear the headphones while we watch a movie, and one of us can set it off for you.”

It was a logical idea.  And Pidge was probably right when she said that it was better to have outside stimuli there when he was trying to break this training.

But Shiro didn’t like it.  He wanted to deal with this in peace, where none of them had to see him work through it.  Bad enough they’d seen it the first time.  Shiro hated that he did this, and hated that they knew about it.  

Shiro was aware enough to know that it probably wouldn’t change how they treated him.  It hadn’t so far, after all.  But he still didn’t like it.  This was his to suffer through.

“Can we do both?” Shiro asked, mostly to stall.  

Pidge eyed him, all too canny, but then nodded.  “Sure.  Leave it with me and I’ll have it to you in an hour.”

“No rush,” Shiro replied.  “I’ll be back soon.”

He spent that hour at a punching bag, working out some of his frustration.

When Shiro went back to Pidge’s lab, he was glad for that.  He was in a much better mental place when he saw the player on the desk with a note.

_ You can trust us with this. _

Sighing, Shiro gave into the childish urge to crumple the note in his hands.

But he didn’t throw it away, instead tucking it in with the player in his pocket.

***

The next time they had a movie night, Shiro brought the player with them.

At first, he kept it in his pocket.  But about halfway through, he pulled it over, and offered the remote to Pidge, who beamed back.

***

She was right.  With the others there, warm and loud and so very human, it was easier.

Shiro didn’t have to do this alone.


	6. With a Little Help from my Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter: If you follow me on Tumblr you heard me whining about being sick. I slept instead, because this chapter still needed a go-over before it got posted.

“It’s just until we can fix this,” Hunk soothed, patting Shiro on the shoulder.  “A couple of days, tops.  Then you’ll be back and in business.”

Shiro bit off a sigh and stared down at his metal arm, currently nestled in a sling against his chest.

It had all been back luck.  Each individual part of the problem wasn’t too out of the ordinary, but put together they chained along like one of those absurd children’s books about giving animals food items and the cascading problems they caused.

(“Why would you give a mouse a cookie in the first place?” Shiro had asked his schoolmates, utterly baffled.  “That’ll only get you more.”

His friend had just shrugged. “It’s a kid’s book.  It’s silly.”

“It’s  _ wrong.” _ )

When you give a Galra drone a gun, they’ll shoot at the paladins.  When the paladins are shot at, Shiro will block with his arm.  When the arm is shot when it’s not active, a panel will come loose.  When the shot is blocked, the Galra drone will charge and knock Shiro down.  When the drone and Shiro are down, Lance will try and shoot the drone away.  When the drone dodges, it’ll hit the door lock panel instead.  When the door lock panel is hit, it’ll close the door on Shiro’s Galra arm and something will go  _ snap. _

Shiro would have been better off feeding cookies to mice.

“Hopefully we won’t run into any trouble in the next two days,” Shiro replied, easily as he could manage.

From Hunk’s flat look, Shiro hadn’t done a very good job of policing his tone.  “You’ll be fine.  Just as soon as Coran figures out how to get a replacement part, and then it’ll take less than an hour to get your arm working good as new.”  He sighed and frowned down at it.  “Though really, this thing’s a menace.  Coran was showing me schematics of how Alteans made prosthetics and man, they do it much better than the Galra.  Or, at least, that they did for this one.  The way it’s supposed to fit-”

“Hunk,” Shiro interrupted, biting back a sigh.

Realizing he’d been rambling, and about what, Hunk winced.  “Sorry!  Just thinking about loud.  We should do some improvements, that’s all.  But not now.  Now is getting you settled.  It’s still completely dead?”

“Oh yes,” Shiro replied, glaring down at his arm in a way that was definitely not a pout.  “Not a twitch.”

Hunk nodded thoughtfully.  “Alright.  Well, Pidge is working on some ways to help you now, so you should head over to her lab later.”

Pausing, Shiro frowned at him.  “What?  But she was working on the communicator extensions.”

Looking at Shiro like he’d completely lost the plot, Hunk nodded.  “Yeah, but then your arm broke, so now she’s working on that instead.”

Not for long.  It was silly to derail Pidge from such an important project for, what, 48 hours of mild annoyance?  Please.

“I’ll talk with her,” Shiro replied, standing up.  “Thank you again, Hunk.  I appreciate all the effort you do with this arm.”

Hunk flapped a hand.  “Not half as much as I should.  But hey, I get it.  Doing little maintenances yourself helps, right?”

Managing another smile, this one strained but more real, Shiro nodded.  “Yeah.  It does.”  

“Good.”  Hunk peeled off his work gloves.  “But that’s definitely enough staring at tiny parts for now.  I’ll let you know if Coran thinks of something sooner.”

“Thank you,” Shiro replied again, just as gratefully.

Clapping him on the shoulder, Hunk slipped out of the lab.  Right before the door closed behind him, Shiro saw his hand come up to rub at his temples.

Working on the arm was a pain.  Shiro prefered to do it himself, both to get himself more used to the  _ additional _ parts of himself and to avoid making anyone else deal with it.  They all had enough to do.  So it was especially irritating when Shiro had to subject them to the tiny working parts of his arm for longer than necessary.

Just a couple of days, and then hopefully they wouldn’t have to do this again.

In the meantime, Shiro just had to manage for a couple of days.

He’d already lost the arm once.  How hard could this be?

***

The first problem Shiro ran into was simply habit.

Either Shiro had never been without his arm for long enough, or he’d had the arm for so long he’d re-adjusted.  Regardless of why, Shiro was still right hand dominant, and with that arm currently out of commission, he was only now realizing how often he used the thing.

Entering any door now took a few extra seconds, just because Shiro would always try to reach out with his right arm, only to get nowhere.  Grabbing pads or other common items had the same problem, and Shiro couldn’t help his growing frustration.

It had been less than two hours.  46 more to go at least (unless he got very lucky, and Shiro never did).

Ah, boy.

Rather than keep trying to work, Shiro gave up and decided to speak with Pidge.  Now that he was actually experiencing it, he understood more why she had thrown herself into inventing a solution.  But it was still a waste of time and effort that they could be using to improve the helmets, and Shiro could damn well deal, thank you very much.

Knocking - first trying with the right, then sighing and using his left - Shiro waited for the door to open, then stepped in.  “Afternoon.”

“Hey, Shiro,” Pidge called, pushing her glasses up to rub her eyes.  “More comfortable now?”

“The sling helps,” Shiro admitted.  “It’s not a very good reminder, but at least the arm isn’t hanging like it was before.”

Pidge nodded thoughtfully.  “Probably a pain, yeah.  I’ve been focusing more on solutions to mechanical problems, but if you’d like me to focus on something like that I can switch over.”

“Mechanical problems?” Shiro asked, eyes narrowed in confusion.  “Like- you know what, nevermind.  It’s moot regardless.  You shouldn’t be working on this.”

Looking at the arm, and then at her projects, Pidge frowned.  “Why?” She asked, drawing the word out for several long seconds.

“The communicators are more important,” Shiro replied easily.  “I can manage just fine, but those signal extensions could save our lives.”

Pidge frowned, tapping her fingers on the table.  “It’s really not a big break,” she told him.  “I’ve been this project aside for longer when I got frustrated.  And it’s been fun to look for creative solutions.  Like, look!”  She pulled over one of the floating kitchen platters. “It’s attuned to your armor for right now, but I can do something else.  So here, move around.”

“Pidge,” Shiro warned, brows jumping up.  “What did I just say?”

“Aww, c’mon, I already did this.  We’re just testing.  Walk around.”

With a sigh, Shiro walked in a slow circle around the lab.  The platter followed him placidly, like a dog on a leash.

Grinning, Pidge nodded.  “Not bad for, what, an hour?  I might make more of these, it’s just nice to have your hands free.  But in this case, it’ll make it easier for you to carry things.”

Unable to help himself, Shiro bristled.  “I do have one arm left, still.”

“Yeaaah, but that’s, like, at least fifty percent less carrying capacity,” Pidge pointed out.  “And you’re used to the metal arm’s strength.  So having something to help will be, well, helpful.”

Shiro considered her pleading gaze and shoved back his irritation.  Pidge was just trying to help.  Was helping, if he was being honest.  Shiro just...

He didn’t like accepting it.  Even for something like this.  

“Alright,” he allowed, eyeing the platter with hopefully concealed dislike.  “This is enough, though.  Please, I’d prefer you work on more important projects.”

“It’s not more important than you getting around comfortably,” Pidge shot back.

Shiro huffed quietly.  “I’m getting along fine.  It’s an adjustment, but I’ve had worse.”

That only made Pidge frown.  “You shouldn’t have.”

Yes, well, that didn’t do Shiro much good.  He had and he’d continue to.  “You’re right.  There’s no reason I should have.  But I have anyway, and this is no problem after that.  Please, Pidge, I’ll feel better with longer communicator distances than I will with more platters.”

“Alright,” Pidge replied, sighing.  “At least take it easy for the next couple of days, would you?”

“Of course,” Shiro replied, completely calm.

Pidge eyed him, utterly disbelieving.  “At least take the platter with you.  It’s already done, and reprogramming it to follow a pad or something will only take a minute when you want out of the armor.”

Well, that wasn’t going to be soon.  Shiro wasn’t excited about changing clothes while his arm was still like this, and he was already dreading having to put it back on in a rush.  What if they needed Voltron?

Flying was going to be a problem, but at least the lions reacted to thought more than actually moving the levers.  He could make this work.  Really, he could. Shiro was going to be fine.

“The armor is fine for now,” Shiro replied.  “Thank you,  I appreciate the effort.”

Pidge sighed.  “You’re welcome.  Call if you need something, alright?  We’re not really doing anything else right now, so you’re not interrupting anything.”

Swallowing another swell of irritation, Shiro nodded.  “Sure.”

Frankly, Shiro didn’t want the help. He wanted his stupid arm to be working so he could continue on like nothing had changed.  He didn’t want anyone fussing or getting in his business or treating him like he wasn’t capable.

But he only smiled back through another of Pidge’s sighs.

Shiro stood and took the platter.  “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Go relax,” Pidge ordered after him, and Shiro waved over his shoulder as he left.

***

After that, Shiro spent a few hours reading up on communications from the Blade and Olkari just to feel like he was accomplishing something that day.

Paperwork and reading were taking it easy.  He wasn’t fighting anyone, and if anyone asked it was one of the translated novels.  No one had a problem with what he was doing in that case, so clearly this couldn’t be a big deal.

So there.

Even Shiro’s thoughts were getting short tempered and childish.  It was time to step away.

In the chaos of time off and working on Shiro’s arm, lunch had fallen by the wayside, meaning it was everyone for themselves.  At a couple of hours past their version of noon, the kitchen was likely to be empty, which made it the perfect time to get a snack.

Putting down his tablet, Shiro sighed and headed out.  Pidge’s platter followed him out, trailing a step behind and to the right like a faithful pet.

Stepping into the kitchen, Shiro moved over to the sink and started the water.  There were a few ways to clean up before eating, but Shiro still prefered soap and water, no matter how many side eyes the Alteans gave them for it.  Just holding his hand under a light didn’t make it  _ feel _ clean.  Shiro got some of the soap on his palm and stuck his hand back under the water, then paused.

There was no other hand to rub against.

Oh.

He ran his fingers together, trying to get the soap to suds up, but there was nothing to do for the back of his hand without something to help.

This was not a problem he’d expected.

Rinsing his hand back off as best he could, Shiro sighed and used the Altean method instead, trying not to be too annoyed.  This was the next best thing.

That taken care of, if less than ideally, Shiro moved to the storage cabinets to look inside. He was still pretty sure they had some of that spread that tasted a little like salt and pepper mixed with mustard, and Hunk would probably shake his hand for getting rid of the last of it.  They had those little crunchy round things that, while they weren’t exactly bread (Shiro thought they might have been sliced vegetables?) would serve about the same purpose as crackers.  But first he needed to find-

There it was.

Pulling out the jar, Shiro set it down on the table and found the vegetable things next, already pre-sliced and ready to go.  Giving his mental thanks to Hunk, and resolving to thank him properly later, Shiro pulled out a knife.

Then he put it down and stared at the jar.

The jar with a twisty opening.

Uh oh.

Shiro picked it up by the top and frowned at it.  Maybe he could hold it against his side with his other arm?  The shoulder still worked...

When that didn’t work (the weight of his metal arm pulling down combined with the limited slack of the sling made it very hard to shove something as wide as a jar between his arm and his chest), Shiro pressed it against the counter with his hip, eyes narrowed with concentration.  

He’d just managed to get the top loosened when the door opened.  Keith walked in, closely tailed by Lance, both voices already raised in an argument.

One that died when they saw Shiro hip-checking a jar against the counter.

In a moment of childishness, Shiro grabbed the jar and held it behind his back.

“Need some help there?” Lance asked, just a hint too casually.  

Shiro scowled back before he could help himself.  “I’ve got it.”  He put the jar on top of the platter of veggie-crackers, head held high.

Lance opened his mouth to continue, but Keith interrupted him first.  “Alright.  Let us know if you need anything.” It was said casually, either like he didn’t mean it or he knew Shiro would never accept it.

Probably the later.  Keith knew what Shiro was like.

For some reason, the thought made him feel sad.  Tired.  Shiro knew this wasn’t rational.  Asking for help with a jar didn’t make him less functional, didn’t make him less independent.  He could get by, but why struggle?

But he just  _ couldn’t. _  The thought ran through him like acid through his muscles after exercising too long.  It hurt in a way he couldn’t quite shake off.

Picking up his tray, Shiro nodded to them both and made for the door.  “Have a good afternoon.”

“Bye,” Keith called after, still that same tone, and Shiro’s stomach twisted regretfully.  Enough that his footsteps slowed.

It wasn’t intentionally, really.  He’d just been thinking.  But Shiro’s ears still strained back when he heard them start to talk after.

“What the hell, dude?” Lance asked.  “Why let him go like that?”

Keith snorted.  “What, you were going to force him to let you help?  He’s got it.  Shiro hates asking for help.  He’d tear the stupid jar apart first.”

There was a long moment of silence, and Shiro stilled completely, waiting for the response.

“Why?” Lance asked, quiet and almost sad.  “We wouldn’t make fun of him or anything.  Does he think-?”

Shiro’s heart clenched as he glanced back, biting on his bottom lip.

“No,” Keith replied immediately.  “He’s just like that.  Always has been.  I don’t ask, same as he doesn’t ask for me.”

Lance let out a long, gusting sigh.  “Alright,” he replied, though he sounded deeply unhappy about it.  “It just feels like he doesn’t trust us.”

There was a long silence from Keith, and eventually Shiro realized he wasn’t going to reply.

He probably agreed.

It wasn’t that Shiro didn’t trust them.  It was just-

Shiro didn’t like relying on people.  He should be able to handle these things himself.  It was undignified when he had to ask for help.  After all, Shiro was their commander, or he was the top of his class, or he was the one chosen for the Kerberos mission.  He shouldn’t  _ need _ help.

Even if he did let them in, how was he supposed to know that help would stay?

...How did he know it wouldn’t?

Brow furrowed, Shiro made his way to his room.

(In the end, he used his knees to hold the jar open and dipped the veggies in.  But he was all too aware he could have just asked and saved himself a lot of trouble and embarrassment.)

(Shiro had some thinking to do.)

***

Dinner came quickly after that, since Shiro’s snack had been fairly late in the day.  He hadn’t gotten any more work done, too busy rolling over his thoughts in his head.

Why  _ was _ he so resistant to it all?  Why did asking for help aggravate him so much?  Hell, it wasn’t even asking, it was  _ accepting. _  After all, Pidge had gone off to help him on her own.  Why did it feel like cheating when he let her?

Honestly, it was a little freeing that for once, this nonsense was just because of Shiro himself, and not anything the Galra had done to him.

Vexing, but freeing.

Turns out he could be messed up all on his own.

When Shiro stepped into the dining room, Coran was already putting down serving platters.  It made Shiro pause, nervous, but everything on it looked Hunk made, so he relaxed back down.

“Smells good,” he commented, taking a seat between Pidge and Lance.  It was better for everyone.  They had a tendency to goad each other into goofing off, and Shiro didn’t have the spare patience for that today.  

Hunk beamed as he stepped in, carrying a platter of what looked like some cut of meat.  “Thanks!  There’s a few spices I wanted to try out, so we’ll see how that goes.”

“Will it turn me orange again?” Lance asked, brows up.

“That was one time!”

“It lasted  _ two days.” _

As they bantered, Hunk set down the platter, and there was the typical chaos of everyone serving themselves.

It wasn’t until Shiro had a slice of the meat on his plate that he realized cutting it was going to be a problem.  He tried to use his fork, but it was too thick for that, and without another hand to hold the knife there wasn’t much he could do.

Which meant-

Which meant Shiro was going to have to get someone else to cut his meat for him, like he was a small child.

Frustration ran through him like a blocked geyser, pressure rising and boiling as he dropped his fork and covered his eyes with his hand.

“Shiro?” Hunk asked gently, brows up.  “Is something- oh.  Oh!  I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, though it was through gritted teeth. 

It was fine.  It was  _ fine. _  People lived this way all the time, and Shiro would get his arm back in just a couple of days, so what was he complaining about?

“Here,” Pidge offered, pulling over his plate.  “I’ve got it for-”

Shiro grabbed onto the other side and  _ yanked _ it back in front of himself.  Picking his head up, he fixed her with a dark glare, his teeth bared.  _ “No!” _

Pulling her hands back, Pidge scooted her chair back in alarm.  “Sorry, sorry!”

Shit.

Shiro groaned and scrubbed over his face, guilt drowning out the anger.  “No, I’m sorry.  You were trying to help, it’s fine.  That wasn’t an appropriate reaction.”

“I probably shouldn’t have grabbed your food,” Pidge replied, wincing slightly.

Yeah, alright, that hadn’t helped.  Shiro inclined his head and sighed again.  “Even so.  I’m sorry.”

Gesturing with his fork, Lance shrugged.  “You can have as much of the sides as you want,” he pointed out.  “Those don’t need cutting.”

They didn’t, and the fact that they weren’t forcing the issue made Shiro relax.  “I will.  Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Keith replied.  “It’s not fun for you.  We get it.  Honestly, if the best way we can help is by not stressing you out more over it, then that’s good enough.”

Shiro’s shoulders relaxed the rest of the way just as Allura and Coran came in and took their seats as well.

“Something wrong?” Coran asked, pulling over a bowl and scooping out the starchy balls inside.  

Hunk shook his head.  “Nope, just talking and waiting for you two.  Did you manage to get through to Ryner?”

The conversation switched over seamlessly, his team moving to cover Shiro’s momentary lapse.

Because they were capable, and they cared for Shiro, and they just wanted to help.

Staring down at his plate, Shiro played with his food and gave himself some serious thought.

***

In the end, Shiro came to a conclusion

It had been one thing, when his dogged independence only affected himself.  It had been his grades when he hadn’t wanted to ask for clarification from professors, his health when he wanted to try out instruction for himself until he got it right, his equipment when he tinkered and tried to fix every malfunction alone.

There had been one time in his life when Shiro had been comfortable asking for help, and that was on the Kerberos mission - when each of them had their own separate specialization, and Shiro knew it was okay to trust them with their field if he wasn’t comfortable with something.

Then that had gone about as badly as possible.

Now, Shiro had a team again.  One he trusted with his life, one he believed in, one he loved.

But not one he trusted with things he should do himself.

On some level, he was still that not-quite-a-teenager, alone in an apartment with an English learning program on his laptop and a monthly budget and told to make it work.

But Shiro was older than that, now.  He had the experience that told him yes, he could take care of himself.

He also had the love and support that told him he  _ didn’t need to. _

In the end, the conclusion was this:

Shiro trusted them.  He trusted everyone on this team to the bottom of his heart.

So it was time to grow up and act like it.

***

The door to Hunk’s lab slid open at his knock, and Shiro found Hunk and Pidge both gazing back at him in curiosity.

“Evening,” he greeted, stepping inside.  The door closed behind him, and Shiro swallowed against the feeling of suddenly being trapped.

He was going to do this.  Shiro was going to be  _ better. _

They deserved that of him.

“What’s up?” Pidge asked, leaning her chin on her palm.  “Looking in on the communicator project?”

Shiro swallowed hard.  “No, actually.  I was hoping you could help me with a different one.”  He paused, steeling himself.  “I want to rebuild my arm.”

Both of them froze, staring at him in surprise.

Shiro stared back, muscles locked against a threatening tremble.

It would never be the right time.  It would never be the right place.  There would always be a more important project.  It wasn’t a priority.

But Shiro  _ wanted _ it.  Wanted freedom from the awful, awful machine that had been made a permanent, occasionally painful part of his body.  Wanted to get rid of the source of a thousand nagging doubts, fears that there was a trap lurking within it, someway, somehow.

Shiro wanted to be free of the Galra in this way too.

Hunk’s jaw worked, and he glanced at Pidge, who stared back.  

Then he beamed.

“Of course!  Absolutely!  You’re really ready for- sit down, have a seat, let’s talk.”

“What kind of design are you thinking?” Pidge asked, eyes bright and wide and so, so pleased.  “Keith pointed out that you do your climbing up walls thing a lot so maybe we could have magnets in the palms, that would be cool-”

“But what about the quintessence conversion mechanics?” Hunk replied, brow furrowed thoughtfully.  He gestured for Shiro to sit, hands coming up to gesture rapidly as he spoke.  “Shiro, this is going to be great.  There’s  _ so much _ we can do.  The way they designed the ports is  _ awful _ and with just a few changes we can make the thing so much easier for you to clean and maintain.”

“Can we give you finger guns?”

The absurd question finally made Shiro break out into laughter, and he sat down a little stiffly, nodding along to their enthusiasm.

It was hard to ask for help.

But when it made them so damn  _ happy _ , how could Shiro think it was the wrong call?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Like Shiro says, people tackle these problems every day and manage just fine. It doesn't make them less capable or independent. But Shiro is adjusting and he has problems with accepting that, thus his frustrations, just as accepting help for things someone is struggling with doesn't make them less.
> 
> In short: the views of the characters are not always the views of the author.

**Author's Note:**

> Like this? You can find more at [my tumblr](bosstoaster.tumblr.com).


End file.
